


Batman Band-Aids

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Mikey Way, Bottom Frank Iero, Frerard, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Pete's Only Mentioned, Punk Pete Wentz, Self-Harm, Teen Frank Iero, Teen Gerard Way, Top Gerard Way, implied petekey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26328871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Soulmate AU where every scar that your soulmate gets, appears on your body, starting on your sixteenth birthday.//Trigger Warnings: Self harm, implied suicide (everything that's in the tags, I guess)
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Mikey Way/Pete Wentz
Comments: 7
Kudos: 62





	Batman Band-Aids

**Author's Note:**

> chipmunk (noun)  
> chip·munk | \ ˈchip-ˌməŋk \ :  
> any of a genus (tamias) of small striped north american and asian rodents of the squirrel family  
> 

I sigh into my pillow. "I don't know, Mikey, I'm starting to think I don't have a soulmate."

"You have to give it some time, Gee. It's only been a few days," my little brother Mikey says, from where he's seated on my bedroom floor, playing Halo on my X-Box.

I guess he's right. It's been three days since my sixteenth birthday, when the scars of my supposed soulmate are supposed to start appearing on my body. 

"You're right," I grumble, irritated. "I just wish whoever it is would get hurt already!" I pause, realizing what I had just said. "Not get hurt, but... you know?"

"I know," he confirms, spinning around to face me after he got killed.

"What if I don't even like them, though?" I ponder. "What if my soulmate is some fifty year old man with herpes?"

He laughs at my question even though it wasn't meant to be funny. "I doubt it, Gerard."

I snort. "That's easy for you to say. There's a ton of girls who wouldn't mind being your soulmate. And guys, too, now that I think about it. What's that kid's name? Perry?"

He rolls his eyes. "It's Pete. And he doesn't like me."

"He was fucking flirting, Mikey-"

His ears start to get red, and I know I've touched a nerve. His ears only go red when he's pissed. "He wasn't-"

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. It's better to apologize beforehand than to let the anger boil and explode.

"It's okay," he says, even quieter than me. After a moment, his ears return to their normal pale color.

"But what if I don't have one?" I ask quietly. I'm genuinely panicking about this. Most people have one, so if I don't, I'm probably going to die alone.

And that's depressing to think about.

"I'm almost positive that you do," he assures me.

"But what if I don't and I die alone?" I pout, burying my face in my pillow.

"You're not gonna die alone, Gee-"

"Yes, I am!" 

Mikey's always been the mature one out of the two of us, even though he's three years younger. "You won't." He sounds so sure of himself, it's almost cocky.

"But-" I start to protest, but he cuts me off.

"It's getting pretty late," he says, checking his watch. "It's a school night."

I roll my eyes, annoyed. "You sound like Mom."

But he's right. It's almost eleven, and we have to wake up at seven.

Before I can say anything else, he's at the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob. "Get some sleep, Gerard."

"G'night, Mikes."

"G'night, Gee," he says in return.

Then the door is closed and I am left alone.

×××

I wake up when my alarm clock says three in the morning.

I can't tell if the urge to piss woke me up, or if my body just decided now would be a suitable time to awaken. Either way, I throw the blanket off, and stand up, stepping over my piles of dirty laundry that have almost been embedded into my mind, like a map, and head into my bathroom.

It's not even a full bathroom, only a toilet and a sink, so I still have to shower in the full bathroom down the hall. It gets kind of embarrassing when I forget to grab my underwear. I have to dart down the hall wearing nothing but a towel.

I yank my pants down, flip the toilet seat up, and pee. I guess it was my bladder that woke me up.

I pull my pants back up, not bothering to close the toilet, when I feel a weird tingling on my arms.

My first thought is bugs -- and I'm terrified of fucking bugs.

So I frantically scramble to turn on the light, blinking profusely when I do, having just woke up. 

I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize there's no bugs. But I almost start crying when I figure out what it is. 

As it turns out, I do have a soulmate -- and whoever it is cuts themselves.

The long, thin lines that are appearing on my arms can only be made by a razor, with the intent to harm.

×××

Put simply, I'm an emotional wreck. 

Put not so simply, I've been sobbing hysterically for the past two hours. Whoever I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with, cuts themselves. Like a lot.

Since the first line appeared, at about three, twenty or so more have joined it. My forearms are covered in the jagged stripes.

I woke Mikey up frantically, panicking, and for a split second, he thought I was doing it to myself. I told him I didn't, and he didn't believe me until they started appearing again.

He's not the best at comforting people, though, but I could tell he was doing his best. About an hour ago, I told him he could go back to sleep. And I've been sitting on my bed crying since.

I guess it isn't really fair for me to be angry at them. I don't even know them, let alone what they have to go through. But that doesn't mean I don't think they shouldn't do it.

I could never imagine doing that to myself. No matter how bad things get. I don't think I could bring myself to force a blade into my skin. I don't know what that's like.

I'm not narcissistic -- in fact, I don't particularly like myself that much. But hurting yourself because of it? I can't imagine that.

It's most likely someone that I know -- people used to have soulmates on the other side of the world, but nowadays, that's a rarity. Soulmates are typically in your life for at least a little bit before you turn sixteen.

So I'm assuming that it's someone at school.

I deflate upon realizing this. My soulmate could be some attention seeking asshole who cuts themselves to try and be edgy.

But on the other hand, it could be some poor, depressed kid who's going through a lot.

I don't know what to think. I don't even know who this person is.

And it's not going to be easy to figure out. I'm guessing that if they cut, then they might feel insecure about their arms, and therefore only wearing long sleeves. Which narrows it down to more than half of my school.

Even assuming that they go to the same school as me. It's completely possible for it to be someone I bumped into once and never saw again. Hell, it might be the kid I waved at when I was seven, when we went to New York for the summer, before my dad left.

But what if I never find them? People have put messages out on social media before, but that just seems desperate. I don't think I would ever do something like that, though.

Some people go their whole lives without meeting their soulmate. It must be sad.

Maybe I don't even deserve one. Whoever my soulmate is, it's not their lucky day.

×××

My alarm clock starts blaring at seven A.M. sharp. I absent-mindedly throw my hand over the side of the bed, slamming around until I find the snooze button.

It shuts up, and I start to fall back asleep, still exhausted from last night, but five minutes later, it's beeping again.

I groan, annoyed, before angrily flopping out of the bed, onto my floor, and laying there for a moment. 

It's a moment before I remember the events of last night. I let out a shaky breath and glance down at my arms. The same amount. At least they didn't do it anymore.

I'm going to have to wear a hoodie today. Even if I tell people that the scars are from my soulmate, they're still going to try and figure out who it is.

I stand up, pulling off my t-shirt and rifling around through my dresser, looking for my black hoodie. I pull an undershirt over my head before putting on my hoodie.

×××

"Shit shit shit shit shit," I mutter under my breath, walking as fast as I can to Algebra II. I would actually be getting there a lot faster if I could run, but I can't risk detention. At least, not right now.

Despite the late bell having run two minutes ago, there are still a fair amount of kids milling around in the hallway. Most of them are trying to get to class, but a portion of them are just ditching, seeing as the rules here are barely enforced. Except for running in the fucking hallways.

Eh, fuck it.

I start running, barely paying attention to what's in front of me. I only see the kid I run into a millisecond before I bump into him.

I guess that's why there's no running in the halls. 

It takes me a second to register the fact that he was carrying a bunch of papers and notebooks, and that they all flew up and fell to the ground.

"Ah, shit, I'm sorry," I say, gathering some of the papers and handing them to him. 

I look up, and I immediately feel guilty.

I bumped into Frank Iero.

The very same Frank Iero whose father walked out on him the day after his thirteenth birthday. The one who had so many health issues as a kid he was put in special education just because he needed multiple adults with him to make sure nothing happened to him. 

He's also in my chemistry class, but I don't really know him too well.

"It's alright," he says quietly, taking the papers from me and gathering the other ones.

"I shouldn't have been running," I reply. I stretch my arm to pick up a notebook, and in doing so, half of my forearm is revealed. Along with the scars.

He kind of freezes, and I can feel him staring at them. Crap.

I shove the papers into his hands, yanking my sleeves down, suddenly embarrassed. 

"Sorry," I mutter again, and I stand up and get to class before he can reply.

×××

After school, I go to my spot.

There's large, forest-covered hills that overlook the town. On the top of one of them, there's a large clearing. I can see the whole town from up there.

I drop my bag on a rock, then climb up onto it. Unzipping the bag, I take out my sketchbook and a pencil.

I know it sounds dumb and cliche, but I come here when I need to think. My mom gives me privacy when I ask for it, and Mikey isn't too pushy, but sometimes, it just helps when there's nobody around.

I pull up my sleeves, looking at the scars. Frank was probably just gawking at them, like everybody else would have. I know that I'll be able to stop worrying about people seeing them eventually, that they start to fade after a few years, but I wish there was a way people didn't have to see them.

Barely anyone at school has visible scars. There's a few seniors who have lines, from stitches, but no one has found their soulmate. At least, not yet.

Most people at my school have nothing, or a scar from a tiny paper cut, or something equally minuscule. And here I am, not even a week into being sixteen, with more scars than most people get in a decade.

Of course, I'm not mad at my soulmate. Well, not for giving me the scars. I'm a little upset that they think it's okay to do it to themselves. I'm almost positive that they don't deserve it.

I pout, putting away my sketchbook. I'm too anxious to draw now.

I hug my legs up to my chest, resting my chin on my knees, fighting the urge to cry. No one told me it was going to be this difficult.

What if they hate me, but I don't hate them? What if they're an asshole? What if they're already dead, having bled out from all of the cuts?

There's too many questions, and not enough answers, and it's pissing me off.

But maybe everything will fall into place. Maybe everything will be alright.

×××

When I walk onto my block, my mom's car isn't in the driveway. She must still be at work.

"Hey, Gee," Mikey says when I open the door.

"Hey," I reply in a monotone voice. I kick off my shoes. "Have you eaten yet?"

He shakes his head. "I wanted to wait for you and Mom."

I start to walk up the stairs, and he stays seated on the couch. "You should've," I tell him. "It's almost eight."

"I wasn't really hungry."

Once in my room, I drop my bag on the floor, and then go back downstairs. 

"Did Mom call?"

Mikey shrugs. "I don't think so." He flips through the channels, hitting the button on the TV remote every few seconds. He finally settles on a rerun of _Ghostbusters_.

"Do you wanna order a pizza or something?" I ask.

He shrugs again. "Not really."

It's strange. Mikey's acting really weird. For one, he's practically addicted to pizza. And he doesn't really like _Ghostbusters_.

I sit down next to him on the couch. "Hey, did anything happen today?"

He shakes his head. "No." 

"Was Perry flirting again?" I ask innocently, fully aware of the fact that his name is Pete.

He stands up, walking into the kitchen. He takes a bowl out of the cabinet. His ears are turning red. But so is his face. "His name is Pete. And I don't want to talk about it."

"So he was," I reply, following him and sitting on the stool by the counter.

He doesn't even argue with me. In fact, he confirms my suspicions. "Yeah."

I try to keep in my surprise. I teased him about it, but I didn't expect it to be true.

"What'd he say?" I ask, trying to be comforting in the older brother type way.

He frowns, taking the Apple Jacks off the top of the fridge. "It's not so much what he said as it was what he did."

I laugh. "What, did he kiss you or something?" I joke.

He opens the box and pours some in, getting the milk out of the fridge. "He did, actually."

I almost fall out of the chair as my older brother instincts start to kick in. "He did _what_?"

"Kissed me," he repeats, like there's nothing wrong with it.

I try to maintain my composure. "Well, did you like it?"

He shrugs, pouring in the milk. "Now that I think about it, yeah."

Suddenly, I'm not as upset that someone touched my brother, as I am that one of them might hurt the other one. "Do you like him?"

Mikey sits on the stool opposite me. "I think so."

I give him a look, and I know he knows what it means. The possibility of them being soulmates is slim, and they shouldn't risk getting hurt.

He frowns, staring into his bowl. "Yeah, I know."

I don't say anything as he eats his cereal, starting to hate the idea of soulmates.

×××

The bell rings the second after I step into Chemistry.

I let out a tiny groan after seeing the board. Today is a lecture day, and I'm really not in the mood to listen to Ms. Greenwald go on and on about the dangers of mixing the wrong chemicals.

I find my seat in the back, right behind Frank Iero. I'm still a little embarrassed about what happened yesterday, so I'm not thrilled when he turns around. 

"Hey, do you have a pen?" he asks in a soft voice.

"Oh, uh, yeah, one sec." I unzip my bag, fishing around until I find a black ballpoint pen. I stick it out to him.

"Thanks," he says quietly, reaching his hand out. As he's doing so, his sleeve pills up a little bit, and I see what looks suspiciously like a scar, a thin line on his forearm.

Frank turns back around, evidently unaware that I've seen it.

I try to not let it bother me -- it's probably completely unrelated to what's going on with me.

Ms. Greenwald starts talking even before the late bell rings, so most of the kids, including me, scramble to take notes.

It's like most lecture days -- uneventful and boring as hell. Aside from the occasional kid asking for a bathroom pass, there are no interruptions. 

I groan internally when my pen runs out of ink. I dig through my bag, looking for something else to write with. In the front compartment of my backpack, I find only a box of Batman Band-Aids, which Mikey must have put in there, and a hot pink highlighter.

I'm not sure as to why Mikey put the Band-Aids in my bag, but I know I can't write with them, so I take out the highlighter and continue with my notes.

There's about fifteen minutes left of class when Frank turns around, places my pen on my desk, raises his hand, and asks to go to the bathroom.

I stuff the pen in my pocket as he stands up, taking his bag with him.

I still write with the highlighter, even though I have my pen back. I'm too lazy to switch at this point.

And then I feel tingling.

I start to panic, dropping my highlighter to yank up my sleeves. Sure enough, more lines are forming. No! Why did this have to happen in school?

I start crying silently, and I can feel my classmates' eyes on me, but I don't care. They'll probably never know what this is like. They don't have to fucking gawk.

"Mr. Way? Is everything alright? Do you need the restroom?" I hear Ms. Greenwald ask, but I barely hear her.

I finally put two and two together.

Frank Iero is my soulmate.

×××

I slam open the bathroom door, panting and my face red from crying. This is not how I thought my day was going to go.

Like I had suspected, Frank is in one of the stalls, jamming a blade into his arm. Holy crap, that's a lot of blood.

His eyes widen when he sees me, and he drops the blade before I can go over there to knock it out of his hands.

I'm yelling before I can stop myself. "Why the fuck would you think it's okay to do that to yourself?! Do you have any idea what kind of damage you're causing?!"

He shrinks against the wall, starting to cry, and I immediately feel quilty. "I-I'm trying," he chokes out.

"No," I say softly, not wanting to upset him anymore. "P-Please don't cry, I..." I trail off, finally deciding to walk over to and crouch next to him.

I take the box of Band-Aids out of my bag, suddenly realizing why Mikey had put them in there. "G-Give me your arm."

He hesitantly holds out his shaking, bleeding arm. 

I try not to pass out from the sight of the blood, because, quite frankly, there's a lot. My hands are shaking, and I've barely realized that I've started crying again.

He doesn't say anything as I put Band-Aids on the freshest cuts, and as it turns out, the box is almost empty by the time I've finished.

"W-Why do you care?" he asks after a moment.

I stuff the box back in my bag, wiping my eyes. "Why wouldn't I?"

He shrugs gently, looking at the ground. "B-But how did you know?"

I let out a shaky breath. My heart pounds so loudly I'm sure he can hear it, too. This is it.

I roll up my sleeve, exposing the thin, jagged scars. I place it next to his, the Band-Aids on his arm and the scars on mine lining up almost perfectly.

It takes him a minute to realize what I'm trying to tell him. "Y-You do it, too?" 

I shake my head, waiting for him to get it. 

When he does, he looks up at me, his expression half surprised and half confused. "I-It's you?"

I nod slowly. "Y-Yeah. It's me." He probably hates me.

Frank doesn't say anything. He just stares at me for a moment, and then, before I can register what's going on, his mouth is on mine and he's kissing me.

I've never been kissed before, so I'm not really sure what to expect. I thought it would be kind of gross, but it's actually really nice.

He gently rests his hand on my neck, and I'm scared to move too much, as his arm probably hurts like hell. Instead, I decide to put my hand on his thigh, close to his knee.

He breaks away after less than a minute. "I-I'm sorry."

I move my hand away from his leg, placing it on top of his. "Don't apologize." 

I don't think I've ever really noticed how pretty Frank was. Actually, I don't remember noticing him much at all. 

He was always the weird kid, the one no one wanted to sit with at lunch. It became progressively worse as he got older, getting bullied pretty severely. That piled on top of all of his health issues couldn't have been easy.

Suddenly, I'm filled with an overwhelming guilt. Instead of sticking up for Frank, I just watched. I could've stopped it, but I just sat there and watched.

"I just-" He cuts himself off, trying to figure out what to say. "I didn't think it would would be you."

When I don't respond, he continues. "B-Because you're you, a-and I'm me, and..." He trails off. 

"I'm glad it was you, though," I say quietly. I mean it. There wasn't many people that I would be okay with being my soulmate. Even though I barely know Frank, I know he isn't a mega douche.

"M-me too." He leans into my shoulder, and I gently wrap my arm around him.

×××

I take Frank to my spot after school. I'm not sure why, but I get a feeling that he'll like it.

He sits on the rock that I usually take, but I don't say anything. He scoots over though, making room and gesturing for me to sit next to him. I climb up and sit cross-legged.

"What are we supposed to do now?" he finally asks after what seems like a lifetime of silence.

He could mean a number of things. But he's probably asking what we should do next, now that we know we're soulmates. I don't want to lie to him.

"I'm not really sure," I tell him.

Frank takes my arm in his hand, gingerly pulling up my sleeve to examine my scars. "I-I'm sorry. For giving you my scars."

The feeling of him dragging his fingers along my arm feels nice. "It's okay, Frankie." The nickname comes naturally, and I'm kind of scared he'll say something about it, but he doesn't. "They fade after a while, anyway."

"I know, but... I don't want you to feel like you have to hide your arms."

That's what I had been worried about. "Don't worry about it." I'm not just saying it to be nice -- I genuinely mean it.

He kisses me again, much softer than before. "Y'know, I kinda thought my soulmate was gonna be an ass," he says, sort of into my mouth.

I wish he didn't pull away, because that was nice, but when he does, I say, "Me too, Frankie."

He smiles, and it's a half smile -- one side of his mouth goes up higher than the other. "It's really nice up here," he says finally, looking down at the town. 

And just like that, I know everything is going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> It got shittier towards the end I- 💔  
> I hate this so fucking much  
> I might update the ending at one point  
> Uh also  
> If anyone has any one shot ideas or anything  
> Please let me know  
> I have no idea what to write :<  
> And writing a long fic is hardddd :<


End file.
